


Tea Leaves

by YupThatsMySock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coffee, Coffee Shops, M/M, Medical School, School, Tea, Tea Shop, University, barista
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 75
Words: 14,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YupThatsMySock/pseuds/YupThatsMySock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mildly AU, Sherlock/John. Sherlock's irritated when change comes to his frequented café in the form of a new barista, John, but finds life has more flavor with him around. At his friend Mike's recommendation, Sherlock takes him on as an assistant. He quickly finds himself steeped in the subtle yet brilliant ways John brings out the best in him-- like tea leaves in water. A quirky romance told in 100-word snippets. university!Sherlock, med-school!John</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bean There Done That

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock, otherwise it wouldn't be fanfiction.
> 
> This little piece of work here will be written in 100-word snippets except for every 10th chapter, which will be 1000 words, just to make it last a little longer. The prompts I'm using are LJ's 100colors and reader submitted prompts.

**Bean There Done That**

There was one coffee shop that Sherlock Holmes favored, not for its coffee but for its absolutely mouthwatering tea. Now, he did enjoy a coffee from time to time, but his first and true love when it came to Bean There Done That's various beverages was their Earl Grey.

Over time, Bean There's cocoa-colored chairs had become occupied by university students, but they kept quiet, which was all he needed. There was a regular barista there who knew exactly what he liked and how he liked it.

However, one night after an uncharacteristically stressful case, his barista wasn't there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Color was prompt #54: cocoa.


	2. The New Barista

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was originally posted on FFNet.

**The New Barista**

Sherlock's glasz eyes locked in on the sandy-haired, compact man now standing behind the counter where the little Asian part-timer usually was.

A feeling of irritation crept up his spine, putting him into a cross mood, which was rarely, if ever, the case after helping out Lestrade.

In an atypical move, he asked the person at a nearby table, a recognized regular of Bean There, where Kimiko was.

"The little Japanese part-timer, right?"

Nod.

"From what I hear, she took off. Got engaged not six nights ago. Moved away with her new fiancee."

This was a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #96: Writer's Choice (glasz, which is an unusual blue-grey-green mixture)


	3. Neophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock majors in science, but he doesn't think he needs a diploma to show that he's an expert.

**Neophobia**

See, Sherlock, while readily adaptable for any situation, didn't enjoy change, particularly where specific comforts were involved, comforts that included Earl Grey tea and white chocolate biscuits from Bean There Done That.

"Who is the new barista?" he questioned the yuppie who'd answered his question about Kimiko.

He shrugged. "Didn't serve me."

Sherlock noted his sweatshirt bearing the insignia of the nearby university; the one he was in fact attending at the request of his parents (if he'd had the choice he would have skipped it entirely).

He sighed, turning to the front. This was sure to be a drag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #8: white


	4. Spilt Milk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John doesn't consider himself the artsy type, but he will to impress the locals.

**Spilt Milk**

John Watson straightened the maroon work shirt underneath his apron and quickly wiped his hands of spilt milk.

It was only day three of his new job as a barista at Bean There Done That, the coffeehouse near the local university, Imperial College London. Quite a lot of students from the university frequented the cafe, and he was always happy to have a nice chat with some of the girls who were impressed that he was not only in the medical department at Bart's, but was also working in the artsy coffeehouse nearby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #61: maroon


	5. Meeting the Regular

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock strikes again. I think that by this point he makes his deductions by second-nature, but I bet when he was younger he did it just to impress people. He's cheeky like that.

**Meeting the Regular**

Chestnut curls, alabaster skin, clear blue eyes, and an imposingly tall, beanpole frame greeted the considerably smaller John, who smiled at the scarfed customer.

"Can I help you?"

"You write a lot," said the dark-haired stranger with a bored glance over John's frame. "You really shouldn't have a part time job when you stay up late handwriting essays."

John blinked, wondering if he knew this man. "Erm...can I entice you with our new Colombian blend?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed the customer's eyes. "Just Earl Grey, thank you. And one of the white chocolate biscuits, if you please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #67: chestnut


	6. Inconveniences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore Mycroft, just for the record.
> 
> Sherlock's catty, much to his brother's amusement.

**Inconveniences**

Mycroft was swinging his black umbrella as he strolled into the cafe. Spotting his brother, he ambled towards the window table where Sherlock sat and eased himself into the chair.

"What's gotten you in a huff?" he questioned the visibly irked young man.

"I want my barista back."

"Should have figured it was something petty with you," Mycroft chuckled. "Really, Sherlock, don't be such a child."

"I would just have to sit down and she'd know what to bring me."

"Now you have to wait in line? Tragic."

Sherlock's eyes flashed at the sarcasm in his brother's voice. Mycroft smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #9: black


	7. Sparring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is in good shape, but you wouldn't know it from the way Sherlock talks (and he's nonsensical anyway).

**Sparring**

"And how did the case go?"

"Fine of course, as soon as Lestrade contacted me."

"I thought that your vanity might be subdued once you hit university, but clearly not," Mycroft noted dryly, reaching for a sugar packet to pour into his mulberry tea.

Sherlock's eyes followed his brother's hand. "How's the diet, Mycroft?"

Mycroft's hand subtly switched directions and snatched a packet of the low-fat sweetener instead. "Mummy wants to know if you'll be back for the weekend."

"Tell her no."

"She thinks it's a good idea."

"Then tell her no twice."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #69: mulberry (has anyone ever had mulberry tea, out of curiosity?)


	8. Guilt Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft brings up past grievances and Sherlock's weak point: Mummy.

**Guilt Trip**

Sherlock's eyes were on the new barista who had taken the place of his comfort-zone favorite.

"Want me to put surveillance on him?" questioned Mycroft, guessing that this was the new barista who was making Sherlock more irritated than normal.

Sherlock looked at him in disgust, almond-shaped eyes narrowing. "I'm not entirely sure why you're here, Mycroft."

"Just inviting you home for the weekend. Mummy would love to see you."

"I'd like to see her too, but not with you around."

"You'll make her cry."

The insult hit Sherlock's ego with a satisfying smack. "Fine. Just a day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #74: almond


	9. My Brother's Keeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft takes care of his brother in some ways but not in others. Broken umbrellas are pretty useless.

**My Brother's Keeper**

"You  _are_ getting paid for the crime scenes you go to, Sherlock?"

A noncommittal shrug from the collegian caused Mycroft to sigh heavily and pull out a scarlet wallet. "I'm sure Lestrade wouldn't be thrilled to pay an obnoxious brat like you, but he would. You just need ask. Don't get behind on your dormitory and class payments anymore, because I know you are."

Sherlock glanced at the money now laying on the table and looked away. Mycroft stood.

"Don't expect me to come and help you again, Sherlock," he said, walking away. "And you can keep the umbrella; it's broken."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #79: scarlet


	10. Almost Completely Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of the 1000-word chapters! John gets gipped by Sherlock. So does Lestrade.

**Almost Completely Right**

John hummed as he pulled out a rag to wipe down tables with. He glanced over at the peculiar patron with the cloak-like coat and the scarf. Underneath he wore a crisp, midnight blue suit.

 _A college student? A businessman?_ wondered John mildly, not really caring until he remembered that the man had actually been able to guess he'd been up late writing.

He squashed an urge to go talk to him.  _He seemed irritated with me anyway. God knows why, but he did._

But it was ten minutes til closing time, and the fair-skinned man with the dark curls had barely moved from his spot at the window table, staring out into the lit streets of London, shifting only to drink his tea and eat the white chocolate biscuit, which he slowly savored.

John hadn't really ever felt shy around people before but for whatever reason, found himself bashfully hesitant to approach this man. "We're closing in ten minutes."

The man's glass-blue eyes flicked toward him, then back to the window. "First week-no, third day here, taking over for a Miss Kimiko Mori. Took a part-time to pay for school no doubt, but you're not from around here. Bart's, I assume. Good luck funding medical school on the wages of a barista. What days are you working here?"

John tried not to gape, unsure if he should feel awed, indignant, or diminished. "Sorry, but...how on earth would you know any of that? I don't think I've ever met you."

"That's hardly of consequence; I was still able to rattle all that off about you, wasn't I?" scoffed the dark-haired man. "You didn't answer  _my_ question."

"Hmm? Oh...I'm here every night except Mondays."

The man very subtly sighed and nodded. "Yes, just as I thought. Thank you."

He left a small tip on the table, sweeping several (very  _large,_  John noted) bills into his coat pocket and walking towards the door.

"Just one," John blurted out, becoming quickly humiliated at his sudden burst. The stranger turned to look at him with what was either irritation or curiosity in his eyes.

"Just one of them, that's all I want. Tell me how you knew just one of those things about me, because I swear I've never met you."

"I believe I mentioned that whether or not we've met doesn't matter; I simply observe. Your eyes and your wrist told me about your late-night writing; your eyes are bloodshot and have rings beneath them-that was easy enough, even a simpleton could guess that." He seemed to smirk. "That was the easiest one."

John wanted to protest, ask about all the other things the man had known, but begrudgingly held to his promise of just asking for one thing.

At his reluctant silence, the man's smirk grew wider and he left with an infuriatingly amused look in his eyes.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

Sherlock had his own dorm room, and for good reason: as he unlocked his door upon returning home from Bean There, he was greeted by the ringing of an egg timer. Excitement spiking, he rushed to his window where on the sill there was a petri dish containing blood samples and a serum he'd nabbed from that stupid Anderson's incompetent assistant. He heard a crack as he stepped on a beaker, no doubt concealed over clothes and papers littered all over the floor (Sherlock was no longer able to tell you what color the carpet was, for he hadn't seen it in nearly a year).

He took samples from the blood and quickly slipped it beneath his microscope lens, turning on the light and tuning the focus. For several minutes he studied the microorganisms in the sample, texting Lestrade with one hand.

_I want the sister of the victim from the alley accident in for questioning tomorrow. SH_

Lestrade's reply was prompt.  ** _No one told you about that case. It's classified, particularly from you and your nosiness. How the hell would you know about it?_**

_The secrecy of a case hasn't stopped me before. You shouldn't leave things sitting on your desk. SH_

**_What a pest you are. Don't you have class or have you decided school is beneath you?_ **

_Dammit, I have a lecture tomorrow. Bring her in anyway, I'll text you what questions to ask her. SH_

_P.S. Mycroft says you need to pay me._

**_I'm sure Mycroft wouldn't be quite so rude and told you to ASK for payment. Yes, I'll pay you, but you keep quiet about it, since you're not actually an employee._ **

_I won't say a word. Doesn't mean I won't wave the paycheck in Anderson's face. SH_

**_Mycroft and I wonder when you'll grow up sometimes. It's always good for a laugh._ **

_I'm sure. I'm going to send you a picture of these blood samples from the microscope. Keep them in the file. SH_

**_Blood samples? You bugger, how did you get your hands on the blood samples? No doubt you stole some of Anderson's supplies. You could get in serious trouble for that, Sherlock._ **

_Tell Anderson to get an assistant who is immune to flattery and flirting. He might be able to keep some of his things safe. SH_

_P.S. Remind me to return your badge to you._

**_YOU TOOK MY BADGE?_ **

_Goodnight. I'll try to make it tomorrow evening. SH_

**_Sherlock! I want you at Scotland Yard NOW! I've been looking for my badge for days!_ **

**_Sherlock? SHERLOCK?_ **

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

John smiled a little, gazing down at his desk back at his dorm.

 _Well, he was almost completely right,_ he thought, lifting a notebook and flipping through the pages fondly.  _But, really, it would be hard to guess about something like this. It makes sense for me, a college-aged man working part time, to be staying up late writing essays, but..._

He chuckled and closed the notebook, getting into his bed and hitting the light.

John hadn't been writing an essay; he'd been writing a book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #84: midnight


	11. Breaking and Entering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is, surprisingly, human. Mycroft needs his boundaries set.

**Breaking and Entering**

Sherlock stared darkly at plum-colored rings beneath his eyes in the mirror.

It had been a late night with blood samples and now there were papers all over his desk mapping out possibilities he'd come to. The bleary collegian stumbled out to get dressed for the lecture he was to attend when he saw something on his desk.

_I didn't leave a folder there..._

He flipped the manila folder open and saw information on a man named John Watson. He instantly recognized him as the barista. Sherlock texted Mycroft.

_Don't break into my dorm anymore. SH_

_**You're welcome! MH** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #28: plum


	12. Tall, Dark (not so) Stranger

**Tall, Dark (not so) Stranger**

John found himself staring into aqua the following evening.

"What can I get you?" he asked the young woman who stood at the counter, admiring her vivid eyes.

"Just the hot chocolate," she said absentmindedly, digging around in her bag for her wallet.

John prepared her drink and took her payment, bucking up a bit of courage. "Say, miss, what's your-"

At that moment, though, a tall dark figure swept into the coffeehouse with a silver-haired man close behind him. Blue eyes locked on John's and flashed in annoyance.

John forgot what he was going to ask the girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #39: aqua


	13. Innocent Until Proven Guilty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Mike! I liked how he was done in A Study in Pink, and those little smiles he got on his face when Sherlock analyzed John with a glance. I'm not entirely sure what their relationship is, but I like to think that Mike knows Sherlock very well. I mean, he does come into Bean There several times a week, so Mike sees him a lot; he's bound to learn a little about his customers. But more than that, it was implied that they talked often.

 

**Innocent Until Proven Guilty**

Mike, one of John's classmates who also part-timed at Bean There, leaned against the counter when there was a break in customers. "What did you do to piss off Sherlock Holmes?"

"Who?"

"The tall one with the suit and dark hair," Mike supplied, glancing over at the window seat. John followed his gaze, taking in the silver-haired man with him. They were speaking in low voices, poring over folders and photographs. The one called Sherlock was having what he'd ordered yesterday- Earl Grey tea and a white chocolate biscuit.

"So, what did you do?"

"I have no idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #95: silver


	14. Genius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is in his early twenties; I don't have a specific age. Not a teenage frosh, thank you. Twenty-two/twenty-three, I'd say? That would put our young Watson at about twenty-five.

**Genius**

"My guess," Mike continued, going to the fridge to refill the cream, "is that he doesn't like you taking Kimiko's place. The two of them had a mutual agreement or whatever; she would see him sit down and bring him the same thing. She'd been doing it ever since he started over at Imperial, a year after I started working here."

"That's it, then? He doesn't like that I don't know to bring him tea and biscuits?"

Mike flashed him a smile. "Kind of a high-maintenance fellow, don't you think? But he's a genius."

"Oh, that's nice...wait, what?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #27: cream


	15. Pulling Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock just-starting-out with his career in crime-solving doesn't mind pulling the strings available to him. Of course, once he gets older and establishes himself, such dependence is nonsense. (Mycroft didn't mind, though.)

**Pulling Strings**

"Sherlock," Lestrade growled, "if you're bullshitting me, I swear..."

"When have I ever been wrong?" replied Sherlock fiercely, jabbing a finger roughly at photograph of a bloodied body in an alleyway. "You asked me for an explanation, I just gave you one."

"But for God's sake, her  _sister_...?"

"Past history suggests bitterness, jealousy, and rivalry," said Sherlock, shoving a photo of a young woman with olive skin at Lestrade. "Not mentally stable, either. _Research_!"

"Where did you find that out?"

Sherlock kept quiet, sipping his tea. He hated calling on favors from Mycroft, and worse, telling Lestrade that he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #35: olive


	16. Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Sherlock didn't have the personality that he has, he'd be a first-class creeper.

**Something New**

Sherlock caught the eye of the barista behind the counter. Lestrade saw the blond part-timer ( _New,_ he supposed, stirring his peach tea thoughtfully) look away quickly under the gaze of the young scientist.

"Did you pick on him?"

Sherlock scoffed, not looking away. "I'm not a child...of course not."

Lestrade kept his eyes on Sherlock and watched a slow flush creep up his pale neck. "Okay, maybe a little."

Lestrade sighed, leaning back. "You shouldn't scare civilians-  _strangers-_  with your mind games."

"He wasn't scared," blurted Sherlock suddenly, seeming mildly intrigued at the memory. "He was only...surprised."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #17: peach


	17. He Who Chats With Skulls (and Yells at Them in French)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's job description and overall awesomeness according to Mike. He kind of thinks of Sherlock like how a fangirl thinks fondly of her celebrity crush: even the eccentric and almost unappealing habits are mildly endearing.

**He Who Chats With Skulls (and Yells at Them in French)**

"You needn't worry," assured Mike. "He's intimidating but he's not a bad sort. He's here a lot. Doesn't talk much. Orders the same thing. Sometimes he brings a skull."

This caught John's attention. He looked over his shoulder incredulously. "Wait, _what_?"

"Yelled at it in French one time!" Mike seemed strangely proud of the eccentric customer.

"Is he...?" John twirled a finger near his temple.

"Of course he's crazy. Bloody brilliant, though."

John put away the raspberry jam. "What does he do?"

"Works at crime scenes, mostly. He hunts down murderers for fun, and does a damn good job, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #51: raspberry


	18. Assistant to the Madman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wondered, like with crime shows/novels like Sherlock Holmes and Numb3rs and CSI and Law & Order...are there really that many murders occurring and I'm not aware of it? I know having my room in a basement is sort of like living in a cave, but really. (John questions the same thing.)

**Assistant to the Madman**

"No way."

Mike just nodded, a slow smile appearing.

"Because there are _so_ many murders in London," John mocked, snatching a small green plate and handing it to Mike to wash.

"Apparently! He's a real... _different_ sort of bloke. He's mentioned that he's looking for an assistant."

John didn't register what was being implied for a long moment, then balked. "Don't even think about it."

"It would be extra money and free access into crime scenes, John! Don't think I don't know you, you adrenaline junkie. You're a thrill addict. You'd have so much fun!"

"With him? I think not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #6: green
> 
> Thank you for the Kudos-es!


	19. Tolerance Levels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock likes some people. Not all of them. Just a few.

**Tolerance Levels**

Sherlock, surprisingly, could say that he did like Mike. This was unusual because he didn't like most people, finding them unstimulating and clueless. While he couldn't really place Mike into a category that truly set him apart from the rest of the population, he did enjoy seeing him. He had similar feelings towards Lestrade, but due to a history together as colleagues, his tolerance for the DI was elevated.

Lestrade had just left when Mike swept towards him, excitement in his eyes as he sat down.

"I've found you," he said with glee in his brown eyes, "an assistant: John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #18: brown


	20. His Corresponding Piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...It's only the second time around with this and I've already managed to break my 100x9/1000 streak. This ended up being 1,300 words long. I tried my best to cut out 300 words of that but I just couldn't...it was all fairly necessary to character and plot development, unfortunately.
> 
> Thus, I threw caution to the wind and let it be 300 words over. I'll try not to let it happen again (I'm actually very embarrassed that it only took this long for me to be unable to make my standard).
> 
> Quick note: this takes place near closing time at the end of the evening. To try and keep it at an 00, I left out that particular detail. I just couldn't bear for it to be 1,305 or something as opposed to 1,300. I'm just anal about those things...
> 
> Also: More about John's history of enlistment in later chapters. And when I say later, I mean that I've written 120 chapters and it's been mentioned. This story is long.

**His Corresponding Piece**

John was far from pleased.

"Tell him no and I'm quite sorry, but I'm just not the man he's looking for," he bit out crossly as he prepared a complex order for a woman in a robin's egg dress.

"Why don't you just give it a try, see what you think?" pleaded Mike. "I already mentioned him to you."

"Yes, you told me," John replied, trying not to sound so petulant and catty. "I still don't know, for the love of God, why you decided to mention me, seeing as how he's got some kind of twisted vendetta or whatever against me for taking over for his favorite barista!"

He quickly made his way back to the front counter to give the woman her coffee. As soon as she disappeared, he whipped back around to pierce Mike with an irritated glare. "Look," he said, "I don't feel comfortable around him, and as much as I'd love to get back into action at crime scenes, I don't know this guy. I don't know what sort of work I'd be doing, what pay would be, what his work ethic is...no, Mike, this is a mess. If I was friends with him, I'd maybe consider it."

Mike grimaced. "Ah. Yeah, becoming friends with Sherlock is...not the easiest task. See, he's...sometimes difficult to...work with. And don't get me wrong, he's a great guy, but he has a few...problems..."

"...What was the message under all that tact?" John demanded flatly.

"He has little to no social graces and meager patience for those who can't at least keep up a little with him." Mike hastily added, "But once you get to know him, he's good to have around! Intelligent, athletic, good-looking..."

"I'm not looking for a boyfriend out of him," responded John with asperity.

"But he attracts women like bees to nectar," Mike finished. "Perks to hanging out with him? Yes. And he gets you your dose of adrenaline."

John hesitated. "I'd have to think about it. I'd rather get to know him first."

"Great!" said Mike quickly. "He's waiting in the back room."

"WHAT?" A disbelieving John followed Mike into the back room only to find...

 _Shit_ , John thought as Sherlock Holmes turned and fixed him with his disturbingly unwavering gaze.  _I'm just not ready for this right now..._

Sherlock looked John up and down and exhaled slowly.

"I will forgive all past grievances—" ( _Does he mean the tea and biscuits?_  John wondered incredulously) "—if you were to become my assistant. Of course, there are rules."

"…Rules."

"Well, naturally. You will be subject to my thinking aloud and will remain silent unless I specifically ask you to say something. You will not try to make me eat or drink during cases; it distracts me and leaves me unfocused. I will not tolerate laziness or blatant stupidity. If you find me playing violin during these times, I am not to be disturbed; it aids my thinking. Don't touch anything; not my personal experiments, not my journals, and most certainly not my violin. You don't answer to anyone but me. Is that clear?"

"…I haven't even said I'd be your assistant."

"No matter, I know you will be at some point," replied Sherlock with an airy wave of his hand. John's jaw dropped a little, surprise too great to let him focus on his indignation. "I know on very good authority that you are…what was it you said, Mike, 'an adrenaline junkie'?"

John cut in, "I wouldn't consider Mike 'good authority', Mr. Holmes—"

"Please, call me Sherlock. But I know that, being an ex-army man, you'll come rushing soon enough." Sherlock's eyes took on a gleam well-recognized by Mike, who smiled. "How's the shoulder?"

John seemed to have difficulty speaking. He finally managed to choke out, "I don't know how you'd know about that, but…" He struggled for a second and faltered, becoming resigned. "It's fine, thank you."

A ghost of a smile made the corners of Sherlock's mouth curl. "Excellent. I have a case tomorrow night if you would be so kind as to attend."

"Now, wait just a second," interjected John. "I have another job, you know. And I don't know you."

"Funny thing is, I know you," said Sherlock slyly. (At this point, Mike was barely coughing back a snicker; despite his cerebral and aloof nature, Sherlock was a drama queen to the toes and Mike knew it. No doubt he was just saying this for effect and in reality he'd just gotten Mycroft to look John up with his unsettlingly inexhaustible resources, and of course did his own "investigation" with his wits and deductive reasoning.)

John seemed speechless and looked a little like a fish with his mouth hanging open. Sherlock resisted the urge to reach forward and snap it closed with his hand. "Good night, John," he said almost teasingly ( _teasingly,_ John thought with a strange swooping sensation in his stomach) and without another word, left the back room with a flourish of his black trench coat to return to his table.

There was a long pause as John let all this sink in and Mike waited for his reaction.

"…Bloody  _hell_!" John finally exclaimed, whirling on Mike, a stunned look on his face. "Did you…did you  _hear_  him? Did you hear him ordering me around? That…that…that smug bastard took one look at me and knew everything about me and even gave himself the authority to tell me what I can and can't do! What the hell?"

"Isn't he charming?" guffawed Mike. "So charismatic. He's a force to be reckoned with, to be sure, but I know you two will get along famously."

"Famously? Famously? How the bloody hell did you get 'famously' from that?"

"You don't know Sherlock—"

"Isn't that the truth! Dear God, what have you gotten me into, Mike?"

"Let me finish. You don't know him like I do. I know how he works, at least as well as a simpleton like myself can understand that brilliant monster that is Sherlock Holmes. There's something missing to him, and that something is you—his assistant."

"I'm not his boyfriend, his soul mate, nor any friend of his," sneered John, continuing scathingly, "don't pull 'completion' bullshit on me with that nutcase. I don't complete him or whatever the hell it was you said, and I'm almost offended to know that you think he completes me! What does that make me then; a psychopath?"

"I'm a high-functioning sociopath, please do your research," called a muffled yet still pointed voice from outside and John realized just how loud he'd let his words become.

He lowered his voice into a softer yet just as scolding tone. "I don't know what the hell you're thinking but that man is absolutely out of the question. I have a decent, steady job here and would gladly give up whatever excitement could come from a crime scene so as not to be with that…madman."

Mike held up his hands in a defensive stance, easy smile still on his face. His eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "Give him a go, mate. I'll talk to him. Don't let him bother you; he's snippy with everyone."

"I am not snippy," retorted the muffled voice, much closer to the door now. John threw an exasperated look over his shoulder.

"You snip," Mike countered, seeming amused. He looked back at John. "If he were to just let you get to know him, do you think you'd consider becoming his assistant? Let him show you just what kind of person he really is."

John hesitated, mentally weighing his options. Finally, he let out a grudging "Fine" and crossed his arms.

Outside the door, Sherlock Holmes smiled and nodded. "We'll see..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was #91: robin's egg


	21. Minx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do adore Mycroft.

**Minx**

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, gazing thoughtfully at his computer, watching John Watson turn the color of a wild strawberry as Sherlock made his intentions of having the man as his assistant known.

"What a little minx you are, Sherlock," murmured the elder Holmes, grinning. Keeping his eye on the security camera image, he picked up his cell phone, dialing a very familiar number.

"…Mummy? It's Mycroft. …Yes, I'm just fine, how are you? …Excellent. Now, I just wanted to let you know to expect Sherlock to bring a friend home for Christmas. …Yes, Mummy, I know it's September…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #72: wild strawberry (that's a color?)


	22. Sincerity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our high-functioning sociopath isn't a people-person, but that doesn't mean he won't try.

**Sincerity**

Sherlock wasn't "good" at people. He was a master of many sciences, could tell a computer programmer from his tie, and spoke fluent French, but when it came to people he just didn't have any tact.

That's not to say he wasn't a master manipulator; he'd learned that lying was a useful skill early on. He knew how to win over people's trust with shallow appearances and minimal effort role-playing.

However, he sensed that John was different, and that it would take more than a little acting. This, he realized, remembering John's strong navy blue eyes, would take sincerity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #88: navy


	23. Sneak Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bean There is a cozier, more personal version of Starbucks. With books.

**Sneak Attack**

John didn't have classes the following morning so he slipped off to Bean There with a token of surprise-he'd never thought that he'd enjoy his workplace so much. With its comforting smells of coffee, pastries, and books (there was an extensive shelf across two walls), he felt a strange sense of nostalgia and "home".

Enjoying an apricot muffin, he sipped his macchiato and reveled in the quiet of the shop in the morning when from behind him came: "Hello."

John jumped, effectively burying his nose in frothy milk. He whirled around to stare into the face of Sherlock Holmes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #44: apricot


	24. Enticing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was actually visiting John, though he'd say otherwise.

**Enticing**

"You have froth on your nose."

"Oh,  _really_?" replied John a bit scathingly, reaching for a napkin. "May I ask what you're doing here, sneaking up on me?"

"I was just getting a coffee before going to class," replied Sherlock crisply. John stared at the styrofoam cup in his hand.

"You're just getting it black?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Sure."

"Have you ever tried it another way?"

Sherlock's head titled ever so slightly. John realized bemusedly that the man smelled faintly like pine. "Does it really matter?"

John hesitated. A small smile came to his lips. "Let me entice you with something."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #46: pine (it's in Sherlock's soap)


	25. The Artistic Type

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John has a secret passion for coffee...more on that later.

**The Artistic Type**

John jumped over the counter fairly adroitly, Sherlock noted, but noticed that it was his left arm that he favored.  _So the right one was shot,_ he thought. He's been unable to recall which it had been during their formal introduction.

He could hear Mike's bleary voice from the back. "John, what are you doing here? 'S not your shift…"

"You know I've got a thing for coffee," responded the sandy-haired barista teasingly, emerging from the back, clumsily tying his apron as he walked. He looked at Sherlock and grinned.

"Coffee," he said, "is a bit of an art."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #94: sand (did I fudge it because I said "sandy"?)


	26. Expert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martin Freeman's John is so f*cking adorable. Every move he makes is cute.
> 
> Sherlock is impressed with John's enthusiasm for a good cuppa. John gets shy.

**Expert**

Sherlock watched with mild interest as John moved around behind the counter with surprising ease for someone who had been working there for less than a week. Upon commenting on this, John chuckled and nodded. "After Kimiko left, they were short a person and were getting too busy. It was sink or swim, so I learned quickly," he told him, putting coffee beans into a grinder.

Sherlock watched as his barista began to prepare milk to froth and added a shot of chocolate to the bottom of a cup.

"You're sincerely enjoying yourself," Sherlock realized, pleasantly surprised. John flushed pink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #2: pink
> 
> P.S. I have a tumblr, if any of you are interested. It's the same as my username, yupthatsmysock. You can find Sherlock stuff on there, as well as a lot of other stuff. It's multi-fandom/multi-nonsense.


	27. Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mochaccino" is also commonly referred to as "caffe mocha".

**Sweet**

John handed him a bowl-like cup and announced, "I present to you...mochaccino."

Sherlock lifted the enormous jade-colored cup delicately, sniffing the whipped cream. "And what is it comprised of?"

"One part espresso, two parts milk, another part froth, lots of chocolate and whipped cream, and plenty of John-Watson-brilliance." He seemed fairly pleased with himself and Sherlock couldn't suppress an amused smile.

Carefully, for the drink was still hot, he took a sip.

He recognized the bitterness of coffee right away, but something sweet had permeated itself deliciously through it. He nodded his approval.

John grinned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pompt was #23: jade


	28. Coffee Snob's Little Brother

**Coffee Snob's Little Brother**

"If you only just started working here but have such skills in coffee-making, that means you've been exposed to it before," guessed Sherlock, sitting not at his usual window seat but near the counter. John leaned forward, watching him enjoy the mocha drink.

"You're right," admitted John. "My sister Harriet is a bit of a coffee snob and has made me make her fancy drinks since I was fifteen. That, and I've worked at cafes before to support myself through college. I came to class in the mornings smelling like coffee."

"Must have made you popular."

"I suppose."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #42: mocha


	29. Fridge Horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tv Tropes and Idioms defines "Fridge Horror" as, simply put, when something becomes terrifying after the fact.

**Fridge Horror**

John waved to Sherlock as he left for class. When the young man was gone, John took his apron off and went to Mike in the back room. "He's surprisingly civilized for the nut you've made him out to be."

Mike pulled his phone from his khakis and held it out, revealing a snapshot of a refrigerator. John did a double take and saw a severed head inside.

"Wait, why does that fridge look so...oh Christ, no."

Mike nodded solemnly. John stared at the icebox that they kept their foods in with horror.

" _Why?_ "

"It was convenient for him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #40: khaki
> 
> John's probably feeling a little squicky knowing that not only is the fridge used for their supplies, but he's also been keeping his lunch in that fridge.


	30. Spirited Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to recreate these scenes. They're done in my own fashion, obviously, because first of all, it's AU so I have to switch things up at least a bit, and because of my 1000-word limit for every tenth chapter, I have to condense and rebuild.
> 
> We're going to encounter (at long last) an admission of trust (sort of) by John, who misses the war zone too much to pass up the battlefield Sherlock's offering him, within the next ten or so chapters (I know it seems far away, but don't forget how short my chapters are).
> 
> There was no one better for Mycroft than Mark Gatiss. The man is a genius and, just like Mr. Cumberbatch, a ginger. Ever since I was little, I've had a thing for red hair. It must be genetic; my dad only dated gingers.
> 
> Note on the chapter title: "Spirited Away" is not only a movie, it's actually a phrase: "kamikakushi" meaning "hidden by the gods" and it's used to explain the mysterious and often unexplained disappearance of a person. John gets spirited away by Mycroft, the god of the British government and the British Secret Service and the CIA (but only on a freelance basis).
> 
> I'll stop talking now. Enjoy.

**Spirited Away**

John didn't often overreact; if he did, it was for good reason, like finding out that a madman was seeking to employ him as an assistant and had for him a list of guidelines (demands) that had to be met in order to work with him.

But when he was confronted by two men clad in black suits and ushered out of his genetics class (to the wide-eyed stares of his professor and classmates), he was surprised to find that this was not an overreaction-worthy situation.

He didn't know much about cars but was able to tell that the one he was escorted (forcefully) into was worth a fortune. In the seat next to him was a young woman wearing a three-piece suit and thumbing madly away at her phone.

John watched her for a bit before saying, "Hello."

She glanced at him and smiled. "Hi."

"Care to tell me what's going on?"

She smiled a little more and shook her head. "Not at all."

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

"Sit."

"I prefer to stand."

"...Sit."

John sat slowly, delicately on the plush seat the man had prodded with his umbrella. They were in the very posh-looking hotel on the very top floor in an impossibly swanky penthouse decorated in the Rococo style (Harry was an interior decorator and years of helping her study had ingrained such useless information in his mind).

The man before him was tall (making him acutely aware of his own 172 centimeters) and dressed in a smart black suit. He was swinging a black umbrella lazily with one hand and drinking tea from a Wedgwood cup in the other, assessing John with keen blue eyes. There was something familiar about those eyes and the way they pierced John. It made him quite uneasy.

"Do you know why you're here?" asked the Umbrella Man. John shook his head and was answered: "Your association with Sherlock Holmes."

John's eyes flicked toward the door before slewing back to Umbrella Man.

"What do you mean? You can't...I mean, you couldn't be his...friend. So what are you to him?"

"An enemy. No, an arch-enemy, he likes to call me. He's always had a bit of a dramatic streak."

John thought back on the swishy coat Sherlock wore despite it still being quite warm and mentally agreed.

"You had your first contact with him approximately two days ago and your first conversation with him yesterday in the kitchen of the coffee shop Bean There Done That, where he offered to make you his assistant. Something you did has piqued his interest...I assume you two shall be finding an apartment together by the end of the week?"

"I never agreed to be his-"

"I'm here to offer you a certain sum of money."

John stopped mid sentence and his ears perked, albeit guiltily and hesitantly. Medical school was rather difficult to pay for and what with his mum being retired, Harry out of a job, and his father being deceased, money was hard to come by. "In exchange for...what?"

"Information, but not any you'd be guilty about giving. I'd just you to tell me what Sherlock is up to."

"Why?"

"I worry about him...constantly."

At that moment, John's phone beeped. After a glance at Umbrella Man, he took it out and read the text.

**_I'm at Bean There. If convenient, come at once. SH_ **

_SH? Who the hell is that- SHERLOCK HOLMES. How the hell...oh, Mike, I'll slaughter you._

"Am I interrupting something?" asked Umbrella Man. John shook his hand.

"Might be nice," he continued, staring at John. "Paying for school...helping get your sister out of debt...supporting your mother...but if you got rid of your useless therapist you'd save a bit more."

"How the hell would you know about that?"

"Really, John, she doesn't know a thing about you. The shake in your left hand isn't from stress. It's from desire. You miss the war; you aren't haunted by it."

John stared, every sense on high alert. He nearly leapt out of his skin when his phone beeped again.

"So how about it?"

John didn't answer, staring at his phone.

**_If inconvenient, come anyway. SH_ **

And with that stupid, pretentious text from Sherlock, he made his choice.

"No," he said simply.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

John made it back to Bean There only ten minutes late for his shift, feeling shaken and slightly annoyed by his surprise attack.

Sherlock was waiting at his usual seat and looked up when John entered. John walked over and waited expectantly, which caused Sherlock to give him a quizzical look. Sighing, John supplied, "You asked me to come, I'm assuming it's important?"

"Ah, yes," said Sherlock, his face brightening. "I need you to make me that delicious beverage you made me this morning."

John's mind came screeching to a halt. "...Mike has a shift right now, he could have made you one."

"I wanted it the way you make it."

"You brought me here...to make you a mochaccino. ...I was on the other side of London-"

"No hurry, it wasn't important."

"-meeting a friend of yours."

"A friend?" Sherlock looked puzzled.

"An enemy."

"Oh." He looked visibly more... _relieved?_ "Which one?"

"Your archenemy, according to him. Do people  _have_ archenemies?"

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

John hesitated. "Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"...No."

"Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

John, despite his irritation, allowed a small smile. "Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you'll ever meet...and not my problem right now. Mochaccino?"

"Just my coffee and not my lovely company?" asked John sarcastically.

"I suppose so," Sherlock allowed. "The anatomy department confiscated my skull."

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

_I'm trying to hire him. I'd appreciate it if you didn't scare him off by abducting him, Mycroft. SH_

**_I'm quite impressed. He didn't take the money and wasn't frightened. MH_ **

_You're not very frightening. SH_

**_Keep this one, Sherlock. MH_ **

_Obviously. SH_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #22: Wedgwood (also spelled "wedgewood") which is a gorgeous type of china typically in a light blue color, but they're also commonly recognized for being white with blue painted drawings. My mom has some Wedgwood china that she's quite attached to.


	31. Something There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's getting used to Sherlock's presence. Sherlock's making a conscious effort to meet John's standards.

**Something There**

Something was different after John's "abduction."

For two weeks, at some point during the day, Sherlock was there. He tried to come during his new "favorite" barista's hours, John noticed bemusedly. Usually he would wait in line for his tea and biscuits, and sometimes he'd tell John to surprise him with something new. He'd stay at his window seat and study or meet with the silver-haired man to discuss cases.

One time John saw him just sitting there, enjoying the afternoon sun. His dark hair had bronze highlights, he observed.

Something inside him enjoyed watching that strange, brilliant creature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #71: bronze


	32. Longing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone know the name of the case Sherlock's working on? I rather liked this story; I think it was my first-ever Sherlock Holmes.

**Longing**

Sherlock was meeting Lestrade at Bean There to explain to him  _why_  the nutty snake-collecting stepfather of the twin girls was the cause of one sister's death because for the life of him, the DI couldn't figure it out. It'd been painfully simple once Sherlock had gotten a good look at their bedrooms.

He was running late, actually, and when he arrived Lestrade gave him a look and glanced at his watch. Sherlock's sky blue eyes glanced longingly at the counter, wishing he could have some tea and biscuits; wishing-not for the first time-that Kimiko was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #30: sky


	33. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John makes his decision.

**Choice**

"You haven't gone over to talk to Sherlock."

John pulled his eyes away from the scientist sitting at his usual window seat and looked at Mike peering at him over the top of a blender. "He seems busy."

"He was making eyes at our teapot and pastries."

John's eyes, somewhat unwillingly, flicked once again to Sherlock in his indigo suit. His hair was wet from the drizzling rain, and he had stood up to go over to his partner's side of the table. He looked harried as he held up photographs.

John turned to the stove and prepared some tea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #80: indigo


	34. Tectonic Dynamics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now...things shift.

**Tectonic Dynamics**

Sherlock sat back down after making his point about the ventilation of the bedrooms. "And that's how he killed her."

Lestrade leaned back in his chair. "We'll take it from here, Sherlock. Thank you, again."

Sherlock concealed a smug smirk, knowing that Lestrade was tired and grumpy. He unconsciously took his tea cup in hand to have a sip and did a double-take.

"When did these get here?" he demanded, gesturing at the Earl Grey tea and the white chocolate biscuits that'd mysteriously appeared at his elbow.

He looked up at the counter. John looked away with a blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #77: blush


	35. Meeting Halfway

**Meeting Halfway**

It happened the day after that, and the day after that, and the week after that, too.

Sherlock would sit down in his seat, and John was there with a warm cup of tea and the white chocolate biscuits.

Sherlock, for the little social tact he had, knew what this was: this was an admission of acceptance (a small one, at least). This was a truce. This was trying to meet someone halfway.

On the ninth day of this occurrence, he was sipping from a lavender teacup, watching John make hot chocolate. When he finished his tea, he approached him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #11: lavender


	36. Enough for a Lifetime...or Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our famous scene. I have to keep some things the same.

**Enough for a Lifetime...or Not**

Two pairs of azure eyes caught with the other's, bringing their owners to a halt. John's hand hovered over the pot he was stirring hot chocolate in, waiting for Sherlock to speak.

"You're in med school."

"Yes, yes I am. I think you knew that, though."

"I did," Sherlock acknowledged smoothly. "You're proficient in your studies."

"Top of my class. I get the feeling that you knew that too."

"You were in the army."

"Again, yes."

"Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths?"

"...Yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."

"...Want to see some more?"

"Oh God,  _yes_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #86: azure


	37. Arrangements

**Arrangements**

And then the pan that John was stirring hot chocolate in bubbled over because he hadn't been paying attention, scorching his hand.

"AH! Dammit, Sherlock, don't distract me while I'm working!"

Sherlock ignored this little spectacle and John's now bright-red hand. "Tomorrow is your off day, am I correct? I'll introduce you to Lestrade and get you access to crime scenes. Then we'll see about an apartment."

John dropped the napkin he'd been holding to his hand in shock, then quickly snatched it off the stove. "E-Ex _cuse_  me?"

"We'll get an apartment together and split. It'll be cheap."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #1: red


	38. Aplomb and Moxie

**Aplomb and Moxie**

"Now, wait just a minute-!"

"Must be off," said Sherlock with a surface-y "know I'm obnoxious but just don't care" smile. "Test tomorrow..."

John scowled. Sherlock hadn't said anything, but the implication was there:  _Not like_ I  _need to study for it, though..._

With a swish of that ( _stupid,_ John thought) coat of his, Sherlock headed back to his dorm.

"Awfully forward, isn't he?" murmured Mike, topaz eyes peeking over the blender again. John threw him a look.

"I suppose an apartment  _might_ be cheaper than living on campus," he muttered, wondering why he was making excuses for the madman.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #32: topaz


	39. Special Deal

**Special Deal**

If Sherlock was annoyed at John's five-minute tardiness, he didn't show it. It was Monday night, John's off day, and the Sherlock was sitting at his window seat when John met up with him.

"We go first to Lestrade," he said without any other greeting, standing and straightening his coat. "Then we look at the flat I've found for us."

John gaped, his blue eyes indignant. "The flat you've ALREADY found? Since  _last night_? With no input from me whatsoever?"

Sherlock's lips twitched in a faint smile. "You'll like it, and you can afford it. I got a special deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #4: blue


	40. The Science of Deduction

**The Science of Deduction**

They were in a taxi now, as they had been for about twenty minutes, riding in silence. Sherlock seemed to be focused with an extraordinary intensity on his cell phone, his alabaster face sometimes giving way to an annoyed look or a scathing glare as his fingers pecked back a retort to whomever he was talking to.

John tolerated this, but the silence was still prodding at the back of his head, alerting him of its presence. Sherlock finally seemed to notice this, his eyes creeping to peer at John surreptitiously. "Okay," he said finally, putting his phone down and glancing out at the rose-colored sunset over the Thames. "You've got questions."

"Yeah," answered John immediately. "Where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?"

"Wait, crime scene? I thought we were going to meet a Lestrade."

"We are. He's at a crime scene, he texted me earlier today. Next?" repeated Sherlock pointedly.

John stifled an irked huff. "Who  _are_  you? You're a college student working for Scotland Yard. What's your major? Crime? Are you joining the police force?"

Sherlock's answering look was smug. "I'm a science major, actually. But my occupation is a consulting detective. Only one in the world—I invented the job." (He hadn't, actually; it was actually a clever name Lestrade had come up with as the official position to give Sherlock a paycheck; the name had stuck and the young man quickly claimed credit. Lestrade kept silent about all of it.)

"And what does that mean?"

"When the police are out of their depth—which is  _always_ —they consult me."

John grinned, looking at Sherlock in amusement. "The police don't consult amateurs."

Sherlock just turned his head to stare at John for a second and he felt a squick of unease at the almost condescending look in the other man's eyes.

"…They don't, right?" (Hoping that Sherlock would respond "No" and restore his faith in Scotland Yard, which had dropped several notches within the past thirty seconds or so.)

"Twenty-three days ago I made the comment that because you were an ex-army man, you'd come rushing to the occupation I was offering you and then I asked you how your shoulder was. You seemed surprised."

"Yes, how  _did_ you know about that? I thought I'd done a good job hiding it."

"The way you stand and walk suggested military training," Sherlock began in a monotone, as if he'd done this before. "You're well-built, which means continued training in athletics despite your service being over. If you were still in the service, you wouldn't be working in that coffee shop to support your schooling; the military would be paying for your education. You favor your left arm over your right despite being naturally right-handed, as seen by the way you jumped over the counter and open doors with your left hand. Shoulder is the logical choice of guessing where the injury was because those require strain on the shoulder. You're lucky that you're ambidextrous; anything that causes even the slightest pressure or strain with your right arm is automatically taken care of by your left, whether it's twisting or lifting something or writing down an order. Must be a sensitive wound."

"I didn't realize you were so observant," commented John after a moment, looking at Sherlock from the corners of his eyes curiously. "You also commented— that first night that we met— about how you could tell I'd been writing."

Sherlock smirked. "Another easy one. These, I may mention, are all things that would be evident and easy enough to figure out for a child…if they took the time to look. I knew you'd been up late writing because your eyes were bloodshot, but not in a taking-drugs-bloodshot way, and had rings beneath them— that meant insomnia or staying up late to work. It was the latter, because of your left wrist."

"My left wrist?"

"Ink smudges," replied Sherlock in an almost sing-song voice; John noticed that his tone had become more enthusiastic as his explanations had gone on. "You're right-handed but writing on a desk makes your right arm feel strained, so you use your left when writing anything of length; this is evident by the chicken scratch you call handwriting and the ink smudges from the pen you used on the side of your hand. You were right about one thing."

" _I_ was right?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

There was a heavy silence in the taxi as John processed this and Sherlock languished in his victory. Then, he asked, "Why write by hand? Why don't you use a computer?"

"Can't afford one," John finally answered, seeming a little embarrassed.

"Ah. We'll see about that next then, shall we?"

"I don't want you to buy me a computer."

"Why ever not?"

"…It's a bit of a pride issue."

"Ah."

John seemed to swallow, and then remarked, "Sherlock. That…was amazing."

Sherlock blinked, looking around in bemusement as if wondering if the compliment was really directed at him. "Was it?"

"Of course it was; it was extraordinary…quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people usually say."

"Well, what do people usually say?"

"'Piss off'," responded Sherlock with a smirk. John grinned, chuckling a little.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock questioned as they got out of the car at the crime scene. "Oh, I may need your help when we get inside."

"I was in the military; I trained at Bart's," confirmed John. "I was shot in the shoulder. I was staying up late, writing in pen with my left hand."

"Spot on, then," said Sherlock complacently, "I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"I wasn't writing an essay, though," said John, "I was writing in a notebook— a journal entry." Sherlock froze, inhaling sharply. "Now, what is it you want me to do when we get in?"

"Therapy," realized Sherlock suddenly.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?"

" _Therapy_!" Sherlock spat out the word like it was a curse. "It's always something. Figures that would be your recommended PTSD work…"

John smirked as Sherlock quickly walked to the crime scene, pouting at his near-victory.  _Couldn't resist._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #36: rose


	41. Expecting the Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Lestrade a lot. I want to get into the backstory of how he came across Sherlock. We know that his first name starts with a "G" and it's been hinted at to be "Gregory", so that's what I've gone with.

**Expecting the Unexpected**

Gregory Lestrade couldn't say that he was  _used_ to the (sometimes horrifying) surprises Sherlock threw his way, but he knew to expect the unexpected and had a knack for taking things in stride. God knows he needed that eccentric, hopelessly conceited but ingenious hellion. He could tolerate the smug-bastard glint in Sherlock's eyes when he slunk circles around Lestrade's team, always eight steps ahead of them.

He popped a mint into his mouth and thought that by this point he'd seen enough from Sherlock that he'd rarely be surprised anymore.

And then Sherlock entered the room with his barista.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #89: mint


	42. Paying the Rent

**Paying the Rent**

"What is  _your barista_ doing here?"

"I rather dislike the tone you took regarding my assistant."

"Well, I 'rather dislike' the tone  _you_ took with your boss." To John, he said, "Are you really his assistant or is he kidding? Did he follow you home or something?"

"I'm not your employee so you therefore aren't my boss," Sherlock interrupted.

"That's subjective. I pay you to work for me."

Sherlock's pale coral lips twitched in a faint smirk. Lestrade continued, "So what's he doing here?"

"Helping me pay the rent."

Lestrade's eye twitched.  _...When the hell did they move in together?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #16: coral


	43. Ordinary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade wonders what happened to change Sherlock's mind about John- last he remembered, Sherlock was giving the poor man the death glare for replacing his favorite barista.

**Ordinary**

"Lestrade, John Watson. John's to be my assistant; I expect him added to the payroll. Mycroft expects it too," he added for good measure. As if on cue, his mobile beeped. ( _How childish to use my name to your advantage. MH_ )

Lestrade nodded at John, wondering what had happened to convince Sherlock of the man's worth so that he overlooked John's intrusion of his comfort zone. John didn't _seem_ to be anything out of the ordinary- twenty five, maybe, with a soothing but unremarkable presence and a cuddly-looking forrest green jumper. Completely average.

What was he doing with Sherlock, then?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #41: forrest


	44. Doubts

**Doubts**

A horrifying thought struck Lestrade.

 _Dear God, he can't be normal if he's running around- moving in?- with_ Sherlock _...is he a lunatic? Another freaky genius, just a little quieter about it?_

Sherlock slyly took in Lestrade's wavering calm. "Are we needed here or are we allowed to leave, Detective Inspector?"

"You can go," Lestrade allowed. Donovan walked by with a "Hey, freak!" and wave of her fuchsia-nailed hand.

John nodded and began to walk back to the cab. Sherlock leaned in and murmured, "You're with me more than he is; doesn't that make him more normal than you?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #65: fuchsia


	45. Tangerines

**Tangerines**

Back in the cab, Sherlock said to the driver "221B Baker Street" and sat back in his seat, pulling out his phone. There was a bit of a gleam in his eyes that John was now a little more familiar with. Feeling a tad apprehensive, he scooted closer to Sherlock, prompting a quick glance from the other man but little else.

A peer over Sherlock's shoulder showed the message:  _Ask Donovan to get medical records and check for allergies to tangerines. SH_

"...Did you just solve a murder?" asked John incredulously.

"Of course I did."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Mmmm...maybe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #29: tangerines
> 
> Fun Fact: The only reason it was tangerines is because I'm allergic to tangerines. Citrus in general bothers me, but tangerines are my downfall.


	46. 221B Baker Street

**221B Baker Street**

Baker Street was a not-too-busy road with an equal number of apartments to businesses. 221B was right next to a cafe, John was pleased to see, and was a nondescript brick building with pewter numbers declaring the address.

"Looks cozy," John remarked approvingly, but his expression suddenly fell. "...How much is it?" He asked ruefully. "This seems like it would be too much for me."

"Cheaper than your dorm," said Sherlock, lithely bounding from the cab to the door in three quick strides. "We'll split the rent...and I have a special price. "

He knocked on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #47: pewter


	47. Already at Home

**Already at Home**

Mrs. Hudson seemed to be a gentle old lady and John liked her fairly well upon first meeting. She led them upstairs to the upstairs flat they would rent, which was a just-right place that would've had a sense of homeyness to it had it not been uproariously disorganized.

"Yes, this will be fine," said John cheerfully and Sherlock nodded his assent. "It just needs to be straightened up a bit-"

"That's why I already moved in-" began Sherlock concurrently.

There was an awkward silence as John stared at Sherlock and Sherlock stared uncomfortably at the avocado-green walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #21: avocado (the color is reminiscent of avocado skin, not the inner fruit that's a bright green)


	48. Just Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not impossible to associate "home" with "Sherlock", John realizes.

**Just Fine**

John filled out the paperwork to move from his dorm and packed his belongings into cardboard boxes. He found he wouldn't miss the obnoxiously bright chartreuse walls, but he did feel a sense of unease at leaving behind something so familiar.

The discontent stayed with him all through the cab ride to Baker Street, thoughts plagued.  _Am I making the right decision? Have I rushed into something that I shouldn't've?_

But it wasn't until he saw Sherlock in his stupid coat, waiting for him patiently to help him move in, that he realized that things may work out just fine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #85: chartreuse


	49. Gossiping

**Gossiping**

" _They moved in together? Thanks for keeping me posted."_

"My apologies," purred Mycroft amusedly into the phone. "He surprised  _me_  with it too. I didn't expect him to move so quickly. Went and picked one out the same night he proposed the idea. I haven't seen him so excited since the time Father got him a chemistry set when he was seven." He twirled a custom-made royal purple pen between his fingers, kicking his feet up on his desk.

" _I just hope the John kid is a good influence on him,"_ continued Lestrade.  _"Sherlock needs someone like him."_

Mycroft hummed his agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #73: royal purple


	50. Learning Process

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine the early-twenties Sherlock to be far less mature than he is in his thirties; adult, but lacking in social graces and tact. So, basically what he is in his thirties...but maybe a nudge more childish.

**Learning Process**

It takes living with someone to really learn the best and worst about them. Sometimes, it seemed that the worst about Sherlock could overpower the best, but John made an effort not to let anything get to him too much. The way angry squawks (and sometimes the beautiful vibrato of a drawn-out note) of Sherlock's violin would wake him up at two in the morning, or the sometimes horrific things he found in the sink, or the temper tantrums when the six-foot-tall man-child was bored, weren't enough to make John leave.  _I have my faults too,_ he'd told himself sternly after a sleepless night in which Sherlock had paced like a caged panther and jabbered at the skull on the mantelpiece in French.

Sherlock was inconceivably atrocious at cooking, he soon discovered. At first he'd thought that he was just fond of eating out, because for a good two weeks into John's stay, they'd done little else. When John's paycheck was dwindling dangerously, he knew the rest had to be stashed away for school and mentioned to Sherlock the possibility of a homemade meal.

The blank look Sherlock had given him over his newspaper had left him feeling a bit nonplussed. "Well,  _I_  think it's a good idea," he'd muttered in embarrassment, rubbing his neck. "I mean, as much as I love all the restaurants we've tried and whatnot, it's not really healthy, and it's getting rather pricey…"

"No, we'll try it, if you so insist." Sherlock had shrugged like it was no big deal and returned to the headlines.

And so, one Monday night, John was returning home from the grocery (Sherlock never got the food, which probably explained his almost unhealthily-lanky figure and his gaunt cheeks-did eh even have a regular diet?), armed with plenty of supplies to make a lovely garlic-sautéed-asparagus and chicken dinner. He was barely two steps into the flat when he smelled a smoky odor that made him choke.  _Fire,_ he realized frantically.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he bounded towards the flat, throwing open the door. "SHERLOCK?" he yelled against the smoke, searching for his flatmate in concern.

There at the stove was Sherlock, wearing what appeared to be two aprons, a labcoat, protective gloves, goggles, and a surgeon's mask.

"Ah, John," said Sherlock, completely serious, voice muffled. "I retract your vote that we cook at home— clearly, it's not the way to go."

"…No,  _NO_." John stared, appalled, at the charred substance spilling from the pan, sizzling unpleasantly as it hit the stove. "You, Sherlock, are  _so_  lost. I don't know  _what_ you did, but you did it wrong, and that does not mean that we give up on home cooking just because you make one mistake."

"But I never make mistakes…"

John gave the (completely genuine) Sherlock a withering glare as he quickly moved the pan, wetting a washrag and trying to scrub carefully at the areas where black sludge was now caked to the stovetop. " _Everyone_ makes mistakes, even you. Don't be such a child."

"I'm not a child," replied Sherlock in a juvenile manner, seeming rather irritated by John's criticisms. "I'm older than you."

John turned from his cleaning to give him a puzzled look. "Wait, what?" he asked, realizing that he didn't actually know Sherlock's age, or for that matter what year of university he was in. "No you're not. How old are you?"

In reality, Sherlock had never received John's birthday in the file on him; he'd merely gotten his status as a university student and background information about his war days, injury, and a few other details. "Twenty-two," said Sherlock smugly.

John stared at him for a second in shock, and then snorted, turning back to the stove and continuing the cleaning. Sherlock's look of conceit shifted and eventually fell away at the subtle superiority and amusement on John's face. "What?"

"Well, Sherlock," said John complacently, beginning to work on the pan, " _I'm_ twenty-five."

John was able to successfully cook the chicken dinner he'd had planned, following a recipe that he'd found in a magazine (he'd always been a sucker for good food, like Harry was about good coffee). Sherlock had pouted at the table, angrily chipping away at the wood with his pocket knife before John had snatched it away, admonishing him for being such an immature prat.

"Face it, Sherlock," he said scoldingly, hiding his smile as he poured buttery sauté sauce over their chicken, "you've got a lot to learn."

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

John still worked at Bean There, but he took fewer shifts in order to work with Sherlock on cases. It was far better practice of his medical-school-skills than anything he'd ever done in the classroom and he found that his grades, instead of dropping for all the time that he was spending running around London, were staying at a comfortable plateau near the top of the class.

Mike watched the two flatmates affectionately as they came in frequently; for John the coffeehouse was a refuge and a converging spot, a place he could always call his own whether he was on shift or off. Sherlock inevitably followed- Mycroft and Lestrade's orders were that he not only graduate with his class but he also graduate with top marks, so even the consulting detective had to study and spend time on homework. On days when this wasn't the case, he read books at his usual window seat or- something that was becoming more frequent- took the spot nearest to the counter so that he could talk to John in between customers.

Mike noted bemusedly to himself that he'd never seen either of his mates smiling quite so much as they had after they became friends. He'd watch John lean over the counter, supporting himself against the edge, feet dangling slightly, and Sherlock reclining in his seat easily, the two grinning and bantering back and forth and he realized:  _This is right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #70: asparagus


	51. Handsome Intruder

**Handsome Intruder**

It was closing time at Bean There, but Sherlock always stayed in after to wait for John. As John wiped down the counter and turned off the machines (Mike had left early to study for a test), Sherlock sat on one of the tabletops and read his book.

Despite the door being locked, they heard the quiet clinging of the little copper bell that hung above it. Surprised, John glanced up from his cleaning, as did Sherlock, whose eyes lazily flicked up from his book.

In stepped a dapper gentleman with a black umbrella. He looked at them and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #38: copper


	52. The Interloper

**The Interloper**

He was fashionably dressed, in a black suit and a salmon tie, his black umbrella swinging adroitly in his hand.

John stared at him for a long moment, looking a bit panicked. He leapt over the counter, landing next to Sherlock at his table, murmuring, "That's the one who offered me money to spy on you."

"Yes," said Sherlock, who had been staring at the visitor with a withering sort of glare that still maintained a cocky sense of detachment and coolness. "I know exactly who this is."

"I thought I locked that door," John whispered in confusion.

"You did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #31: salmon


	53. Protective

**Protective**

"Domesticity suits you, Sherlock," said the interloper. John found that he had gravitated to stand a little ways in front of Sherlock and was startled by his own protective nature. He had little time to dwell on it for now Sherlock was standing up, planting himself behind John.

"Yes," said Sherlock, his voice prickly as a thistle, "I've even put on a pound or two thanks to John's culinary skills."

John looked up and slightly behind him. The top of his head reached barely past Sherlock's chin (something he wasn't happy to note).

"What do you want?" Sherlock finally questioned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #66: thistle


	54. Taking Care of What's His

**Taking Care of What's His**

Mycroft resisted an eye roll.  _Ridiculous._

Sherlock had done this ever since they were children, but the objects had varied. When he was three, it was his yellow-sweatered teddy bear. At nine, his chemistry set. At fifteen, it was his pride.

And now: his flatmate. Mycroft saw the familiar subtle yet dangerous look of possessiveness in Sherlock's pale blue eyes.

Why his little brother felt the need to protect John he had no idea— he had no intention of  _hurting_ him.

But, admittedly, he was rather pleased to see the same look blazing out at him in John's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #56: yellow


	55. Hostility

**Hostility**

"There's no need to be so  _hostile_ ," responded Umbrella Man with a smile. He hadn't actually answered Sherlock's question (irking John considerably). When Umbrella Man's powder blue eyes turned to him with a familiar yet not fully recognizable expression, John stepped backward, only to make contact with a chest. A hand was suddenly on his shoulder— Sherlock steadying him.

"Mike," Sherlock said suddenly. John's eyes narrowed. "Cornered him, did you? Stole his key."

John flared as Umbrella Man pulled out a familiar brass key from his suit pocket. "You  _did_!" He stepped forward but Sherlock's hand tightened on his shoulder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #97: brass


	56. Lightbulb Moment

**Lightbulb Moment**

"I wouldn't," Sherlock said quietly, his voice suddenly in John's ear. "He's dangerous."

"Criminal mastermind?" muttered John, never removing his glare from Umbrella Man (who, to his annoyance, seemed amused). They'd encountered a few "criminal masterminds", including a cabby and a redheaded crook.

"Close enough," responded Sherlock, stepping past John towards Umbrella Man.

"No need to be so dramatic. I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"Point proven, don't you think?"

John watched them, a strange sense of recognition crossing him. Same stance…same authoritative, charismatic personas…same hint of orangeish in their dark hair…

_Oh. Oh, duh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #3: orange


	57. Freelancer

**Freelancer**

"You disgust me, Mycroft."

"Yes, well, I didn't make Mummy cry at my last visit home, did I? May not be a good idea to call me a 'pumpkin-haired lard ass'— for one, my hair is  _brown_ and two, my diet is going excellently, thank you."

"Your brother is a criminal mastermind?" asked John, causing the brothers to pause and stare at him. Mycroft looked mildly affronted.

"Minor position in the British government," he reminded.

"He  _is_ the British government," replied Sherlock scathingly, "when he's not busy being the British Secret Service, or the CIA on a freelance basis."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #50: pumpkin


	58. Welcoming Brigade

**Welcoming Brigade**

"You never answered my question."

"And what was it, dear brother?"

"What. Do. You. Want?"

"Mm, your manners are still a little rusty, I see."

"If you're just here to bother me and John, I swear I'll—"

"Ah, yes,  _John_!" exclaimed Mycroft in delight, turning on his heel to the considerably shorter barista, who started in alarm and backed into a table. "Just wanted to welcome you to the family."

"To the what?"

"Figuratively speaking, of course." Mycroft held out a hand.

"So…when you said you 'worry about him constantly', you mean you really worry about him?"

"Yes…constantly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #98: Writer's Choice: rust


	59. Jealous

**Jealous**

"Keep in touch, of course," purred Mycroft.

"Yeah, definitely!" beamed John.

Sherlock glared at his coffee mug (his favorite— a massive, sea green one).

Somehow, his brother and John had started talking and had managed to pass an hour getting acquainted. John had treated Mycroft to coffee, making him the same thing he'd made Sherlock, the mochaccino (Sherlock did  _not_ like that). Now they were chatting like old pals. He found he rather disliked the way John leaned on his hand and smiled when talking to Mycroft.

He added  _Seduced_ _John_ to his list of reasons for hating his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #48: sea green


	60. Home

**Home**

"So...Mycroft." John looked at Sherlock with a cautious but friendly smile, sort of nudging the rigid consulting detective as they walked home, trying to get him to relax a little.

"What about him?"

"I like him. He's nice."

"You're the only one who thinks so," Sherlock grumbled.

John grinned, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and chuckling. Sherlock peeked at his flatmate, watching the smile that could have lit all of London, and quietly concealed his own happiness behind his trademark smirk. "Thank you," he said finally, causing John to look over at him in shock.

"Did you just  _thank_ me?"

Defensiveness caused Sherlock's hackles to rise but he kept his composure. "Yes."

John, wearing an expression midway between disbelief and amusement, stared at the streetlamps and the goldenrod patches of light on the ground. "For what?"

Sherlock pulled his coat closer to his lanky frame. The October chill didn't bother him but he felt a sudden need for enclosure and security. "No reason."

"Nobody thanks someone for no reason, least of all you, whom I don't think has ever willingly thanked  _anyone_ ," scoffed John, grinning wolfishly. "C'mon, tell me. What's gotten you all sentimental?"

"I'm not 'sentimental'," Sherlock sniffed stiffly, "nor will that word ever be associated with me."

John laughed again, and Sherlock was delighted to hear it. It was so rare that people laughed kindly at the things he said and not with malice. He relaxed, silent. It took him some time to finally speak. "For putting up with my brother, I suppose. For...being kind to him."

"You'd rather not admit it but you actually like your brother."

"Yes, but I also hate him."

"I can understand that." A small smirk accompanied this, but there was a fair amount of unreadable emotion behind it. Sherlock watched John's expression in his peripheral for a moment.

"...Mycroft, he...appreciates you being willing to room with me. I'm something of a difficult person to find a flatmate for."

"Sherlock, it's nothing."

No, it was as far from "nothing" as Sherlock thought it could get. It was so much more than "nothing"; it was John's kindness and patience, his skills in cooking and his pragmatism, his smile and his laugh and his strange warmth.

It wasn't the first time Sherlock had ever had something, but it was certainly the first time he'd ever had something quite like John Watson.

 _I have a friend,_ he realized with surprise. When or where it had happened, he had no clue, but he had a strong sense about it.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"There's a fine line between good eye contact and the stare of a psychopath, and right now you're on the wrong side of that line. You've been glaring at me for what seems like a good minute or so."

"Ah...my apologies."

John snorted. "We're just about home. You want me to make us some tea, provided your aren't growing a colony of bacteria or something in the kettle?"

"Ah, we'd better not...that colony has been in there long enough to have a written language and a calendar now."

John paled, quickly turning to Sherlock. "I was kidding about that, you know."

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, John...so was I."

John blinked, then visibly relaxed. "Oh, thank goodness. You really had me going there. Who knew you had a sense of humor?"

He happily trotted up the stairs leading to the door and Sherlock mentally commended his quick thinking. He didn't think John would react well if he knew about the mold species he was attempting to grow inside the kettle. He'd almost warned him this morning as John made tea, but had been curious about the mold's strength against hot water.

"We're home," called John, though Mrs. Hudson was probably sleeping. It seemed a ritual for him, most likely something picked up from a parent who'd often said it.

 _Home._ It had a very nice ring when John said it, Sherlock thought to himself with a smile.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

Sherlock didn't socialize at school, really. He wasn't shy or anything, just disinterested ("Antisocial," Mycroft had once sniffed in disdain).

The other students didn't really talk to him much either; they thought he was an aloof but obnoxious bastard who seemed to live only to one-up them and try to embarrass them with his knowledge. He always seemed to know who was sleeping with who, who had done what, and what had gone on, even though no one ever saw him outside of class.

It was rather surprising to Sherlock, then, that as he was packing his things up at the end of class one day someone paused in front of his desk.

"Hi," said the someone.

Sherlock's eyes took in a quick analysis and was only able to register a normal university man with a hooded sweatshirt, jeans, trainers, and a backpack with headphones sticking out of one pocket. He had a fairly open smile and his eyes were trusting (and intriguing, Sherlock thought- they seemed almost too trusting). He had a bit of stubble on his face but he seemed fairly well-kept; Sherlock recognized an expensive wristwatch and a respected brand name stitched onto one of the belt loops of the jeans.

"Do you need something from me?" he asked mildly, straightening.

"Really liked your presentation today, though you got something wrong," said the young man, displaying his computer screen to Sherlock.

Stunned, Sherlock took in that he had indeed screwed up, but on a date (but not an important one).

"...I stand corrected," he said, wondering why the young man had bothered to look up such a thing-  _Ah. He'd already known about it. But what an obscure thing to know. Interesting._

Sherlock found he didn't have to try too hard for a friendly smile ( _John's influence?_ he wondered vaguely) and said, "May I ask your name?" as he held out his hand to shake.

"Jim Moriarty," replied the young man happily as he shook Sherlock's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #87: goldenrod


	61. Spying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a curious third party into our favorite pair.

**Spying**

She ran a manicured nail over the edge of the picture, a habit she'd never gotten rid of (she ran her fingers over everything). Eyes like garnets locked in on the compact, blond man with the easygoing smile standing next to the grim, dark Sherlock Holmes.

"Fascinating," she said finally. "I've seen everything I wanted to see. Thank you." She looked up at her informant curiously and asked, "Now, allow me to ask how you got such a picture?"

He had the grace to look abashed.

Anita Holmes scolded, "Spying through security cameras again, Mycroft dear?"

"Only in moderation, Mummy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #34: garnet (which is a lovely color- kind of a burgundy-brownish shade)


	62. Excuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mike knows something only Mycroft knows.

**Excuse**

It was raining.

John peered out Bean There's front window into the murky evening.

He had no umbrella (his broken one's spokes looked like a tumbleweed) and it was a twenty minute walk back to the flat.

Lightning flashed and the downpour became even more torrential. John frowned. "Mike?" he called. "Got an extra umbrella?"

"Nope." Mike poked his head out from behind the counter. "Call Sherlock. He'd be happy to bring you one."

"I don't want to call him out in the weather."

"Don't worry about it. Besides- it's an excuse to see you. He won't refuse," Mike chuckled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #92: tumbleweed


	63. Secretive Humor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tends to have a certain kind of dedication when the situation is important enough for him. Inspired by the scene in The Great Game in which John calls him to be a photographer and Sherlock's immediate response is to drop everything and leave.
> 
> Mike finds it all very funny. John isn't entirely sure what "it all" is.

**Secretive Humor**

_"John? Is anything wrong?"_

"Why do you automatically assume something's wrong?"

_"You need an umbrella, don't you."_

"...Yeah. You want to bring one over? I'm sorry, I know you're studying for midterms..."

 _"Think nothing of it."_  There were sounds of rustling and a door slamming.  _"I'm on my way. Be there in twenty. I'll walk home with you."_

For some reason, this made John smile. "See you soon." He hung up and looked back to Mike at the counter. He was a bit embarrassed to find him grinning at him past a tumbler of mango tea.

"Something funny?"

"Oh, yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #81: mango


	64. Expectations and Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the first unconscious signs of attraction, for me at least, is always searching out aforementioned attractive person and feeling disappointed that it's not them entering a room, tapping my shoulder, etc. Anyone else get this way? It's like getting your hopes up to see them, but on a smaller scale.

**Expectations and Surprises**

After fifteen minutes the bell rang. John looked up, half-expecting to see Sherlock standing there, but was a bit disappointed that it was just two university students. One had a carnation in his suit's front pocket and John remembered that there had been a guest speaker at Imperial College.

 _Sherlock wouldn't have gotten here so fast unless he'd been running_ , John thought as he prepared the young men's drinks.  _He doesn't have any reason to rush, anyway..._

Just then, Sherlock swept in, eyes locking in on John immediately.

"Sherlock!" called John, smiling...as did one of the customers, surprisingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #60: carnation


	65. Hidden Hurt

**Hidden Hurt**

"O-Oh," said the customer in surprise, glancing over his shoulder at John. "Sorry about that..."

John quickly shook his head. "Ah, no, it's fine," he said quickly.

Sherlock began to walk forward. "John, the umbrella-"

"You two really do know each other then?" The suited customer seemed intrigued.

"Yes," said Sherlock. "John's my friend."

"Colleague," said John suddenly, turning back to finish off the drinks.

He didn't notice the flash of surprise that quickly turned to melancholy in Sherlock's blue-green eyes, nor the minute stumble in his words. "Yes. Quite right."

"Wonderful to meet you, John. I'm Jim!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #59: blue-green


	66. Catch You Later

**Catch You Later**

"Yes, it's nice to meet you, Jim," said John, wiping his hands on his apron in order to shake the outstretched hand in front of him. "You ordered the melon smoothie, right?"

Jim's grin was confident and—it seemed to John—too bright. It set him on edge, though he didn't think he had a reason to be. "Yup! Colleagues, very nice…"

"I guess you could say that," chuckled John. Sherlock was being curiously quiet.

The young men got their drinks and Jim said, "Let's go, Sebastian. See you in class tomorrow, Sherlock."

"Yes," was the response. "Catch you later."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #62: melon


	67. Not All Right

**Not All Right**

"Thanks," said John once Sherlock's classmates were gone, holding up the umbrella (a jazzberry pink one, courtesy of Mycroft). Sherlock was looking at him oddly. John frowned.

"Right," said his flatmate, turning. "I'll just head on home then…"

"Now, wait a minute." John vaulted himself over the counter and snagged Sherlock's shoulder. "I thought you said you'd walk home with me."

"It's quite all right." Sherlock sounded completely cool and at ease, but John knew something was wrong. "See you at home."

"It's pouring rain out there! Sherlock, just wait, we can walk together. Please?"

But Sherlock had already left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #82: jazzberry


	68. At Fault

**At Fault**

John brooded until closing time. What had happened to make Sherlock so…off?

 _His classmates?_ he wondered. No, they seemed friendly enough, and Sherlock been looking at him strangely.  _So it's my fault._

He sighed on the walk home, remembering his days fighting with Harry. It was a bittersweet memory; he missed times where their fights were petty, like who got to watch their program on the telly.

The rain pounded viciously against his umbrella and his mind jerked guiltily to Sherlock, imagining his poor flatmate walking back in the storm, curls and clothes dripping. It made his heart ache.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #57: bittersweet


	69. Friends

**Friends**

"Sherlock?" called John when he got back to the flat. Mrs. Hudson's head poked out of her kitchen.

"Hello, John dear. Sherlock's gone to bed early. Came in dripping wet. Odd, I saw him rushing out with an umbrella earlier…"

John looked down at the dripping umbrella in his hand. "…Dammit."

Sherlock was sitting on his bed in his emerald pajama bottoms, a towel around his neck, when John came in.

"You can't go to bed yet. You have midterms tomorrow," John said. Sherlock peered over his shoulder at him.

"You'd help me study?"

"What are friends for?"

Sherlock smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #37: emerald (I bet Sherlock looks lovely in those rich greens)


	70. Connected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, wondering about this chapter. Not sure how I feel about it.
> 
> John finds himself connected to Sherlock.

**Connected**

"You're not going to put a shirt on?"

"I don't have any need to."

"...I think you should."

"It's warm."

John peered at Sherlock dubiously. "It's not warm."

Sherlock's pale eyes darted up to look in the face of his flatmate. "It is."

John sat back against Sherlock's pillows. "If you have a fever and miss your midterms, I'll see to killing you myself."

"I don't get sick."

"You're not a superhuman, Sherlock."

Sherlock snorted. John rolled his eyes.

They sat on Sherlock's bed, John leaning against the mahogany headboard with pillows tucked behind him, Sherlock laying on his stomach with his head on his arms, reading from a textbook. John had an avalanche of notebooks and binders in his lap. Helping Sherlock study for his midterms had eventually given way to a relaxed silence in which Sherlock looked over chapter outlines and John quizzed him when asked. In the meantime, the young doctor flipped through Sherlock's notebooks, marveling at the notes and things written there. Every inch of paper was crammed with Sherlock's scrawl.

"Tough, becoming a scientist?" asked John as his eyes read over chemical equations.

"Not really. I rather enjoy it."

"You specializing in something?" John didn't know why he didn't have an answer, seeing as Sherlock knew that particular tidbit about him.

"Chemistry."

 _Ah._ "Makes sense."

Sherlock smirked. "Hnn."

They lapsed into quiet again. John grabbed another book and leaned his head back, stretching out a little more.  _Sherlock's bed is awfully comfortable_ , he noted ruefully, wondering if Sherlock had claimed the better mattress for himself or if it was by chance.

John continued looking through the notebooks, pausing when he saw Sherlock's name written at the top of a worksheet. "Hey."

"Mmm?"

"What kind of a name is 'Sherlock' anyway? And 'Mycroft' for that matter."

"Family names," was the answer. "My great-great paternal grandfather was named Sherlock Holmes, and he had an elder brother named Mycroft."

"So...not the result of parents being drunk during the name-confirmation?"

Another smirk flitted across Sherlock's mouth. "No, thankfully. Had that been the case I would have been named something mundane, like 'Bob.'"

"There's nothing wrong with the name 'Bob.'"

"There are universes of things that are wrong with that name," grunted Sherlock as he flipped onto his back and stretched his lean body until it was taut as a bowstring. "You've asked two questions, now it's my turn to ask you two."

"You should be studying for your midterms, actually."

"Mmmm, not really."

"People will think you're conceited if you give that kind of answer. The other students will hate you." Despite this, John couldn't keep the smirk out of his voice, amused with Sherlock's arrogant answer.

The consulting detective curled up like a cat on his side and peered up at his flatmate. "They already do. Now, question one: how were you shot?"

John blinked. "Ah. You...you really want to know that?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

John leaned back again, settling himself against the pillows. "Well, our regiment was a small one, perhaps only twenty-five hundred. We were pretty outnumbered during our attack- massacred ten times over, it seemed. I was running to a comrade to pull him out of danger after his leg had been shot. I got hit in the right shoulder." He shrugged. "I was nineteen. I came back here to make my decision of what I wanted to do and decided on medicine. I have an army pension but it's not hefty enough to help with school all that much."

"Shouldn't the army cover your tuition?"

"Not with my plan and qualifications. It doesn't work quite so easily, Sherlock. Often people assume that being in the army means going into university free, but that's not necessarily the case. There are requirements of the university, the career, the tuition price, et cetera. I get a bit towards university, but as much as I'd like." John shrugged and smiled. "Hence the jobs at Bean There and with you. Next question?"

Sherlock was hesitant with this one but asked nonetheless. "Why did you say you were my colleague to Jim and Sebastian?"

"Well, aren't I?"

"Yes," continued Sherlock, seeming perhaps slightly uncomfortable- an intriguing notion to John, for Sherlock always seemed so collected and confident. "I introduced you as a friend and you corrected me."

John stared at him for a minute, and then sighed. "So  _that's_ what it was. Look, Sherlock, I didn't do it with any desire to hurt you, all right? It was done for stupid reasons, looking back on it. I mean...I almost felt like I should've. They came off as very sophisticated, and I guess that if I was to be associated with you, you'd want someone a little...I dunno. Someone better than a barista for a friend. 'Colleague' sounded a little better, because it established me as your partner when you go to crime scenes, not some college yuppie who hasn't got much going for him."

Sherlock broke in almost immediately. "I won't go into everything  _wrong_ with what you just said, John, but there is one major point that I'd like to highlight for you." He twisted his body around so that he could sit up and looked at John piercingly. "If I was ashamed of who you are I would've dropped you long ago. Incidentally, I find I wouldn't want you any other way, which is why I introduced you as my friend and not something detached like my 'colleague.' I wished to make such a connection to you in the hopes that you'd reciprocate because I am proud to have you as my friend. If I wasn't, I would've said so. I've been told I'm rather abrasive and often honest to a fault. You can trust the things I say."

John wasn't entirely sure how to respond to Sherlock's declaration or the warm feeling bubbling up in his chest. "Sherlock?" he finally said.

"Yes, John?"

"Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #12: mahogany


	71. Don't Need Luck

**Don't Need Luck**

John stood on the stoop, a paper bag in his hand. "If you don't leave now, you're going to be late," he called.

Sherlock swept into the hallway, pulling his arms through the sleeves of his coat and fixing his navy scarf. "Coming."

John held out the paper bag as Sherlock bounced down the steps lightly. "Here."

"Do I smell lemon pastries?"

John nodded. He'd woken up early to pick up a few. "Good luck," he said as Sherlock headed out.

Sherlock threw a confident grin over his shoulder that for some reason made John's stomach swoop. "Don't need it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #13: lemon


	72. Ciao

**Ciao**

After John's classes, he headed off to Bean There for his shift. The crisp afternoon was October in full glory, with an endless cornflower blue sky above him and a breeze traipsing about him carelessly.

 _Hope Sherlock does okay on his midterms,_ he thought, but soon corrected himself.  _Of course he did okay; he did better than okay. He'll come home and gloat about how easy it was, naturally._ In a strange, backward way, he found himself looking forward to it.

He'd almost made it to Bean There when he heard a voice drawling out a greeting: " _Ciaoooo_ , John Watson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #33: cornflower (I love this shade of blue :D Reminds me of quilts and flowers and skies)


	73. Serpent

**Serpent**

John turned and recognized the young man, Jim, who'd been getting coffee just the day before. John recalled with uneasy clarity the excitement in Jim's voice at seeing Sherlock, nearly identical to his own- but there had been something off. John didn't know what it was, but it had set his senses on edge.

" _Wonderful_ to see you again, John," Jim drawled, traces of the energetic yuppie transformed into something a little more urbane. If lime had been his color the other night, now he was serpent green.

"Hi," said John, a little uncomfortably.

"I need to ask you something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #7: lime


	74. Defining Friend

**Defining "Friend"**

"And that question is...?" John wanted this over with. He didn't feel comfortable around Sherlock's friend (friend? Was that what Jim was?), and it was chilly. He wanted to head for the comfort of Bean There and its smells of coffee, old books and oven-fresh pastries.

"What sort of relationship do you  _really_  have with dear Sherlock, Mr. 'Colleague'?"

 _Dear_ _Sherlock?_ thought John, slightly irked. He found himself glaring at Jim's mauve tie.  _How close are they? Sherlock's hardly mentioned him._

"We're good friends, as well as colleagues," he said. "I go to crime scenes with him."

"I see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #14: mauve


	75. Unapproachable Topics

**Unapproachable Topics**

John was able to find solace in the comfort of Bean There, escaping from Jim's probing questions. He was quite uncomfortable with the young man's unusual interest in his flatmate. "What's so great about that smug fool anyway?" he muttered as he headed into the back to grab his apron.

He calmed himself down with a scone and grape jam (though he would have preferred strawberry) and busying himself with cleaning.

But he was still distracted.

His keen senses were never wrong, and he felt uneasy about Sherlock's friend. But how he would tell Sherlock that, he had no idea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was #52: grape


End file.
